


anathema, andromeda, amen

by elektra



Category: Bleach
Genre: Established Relationship, Gore, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Ulquiorra, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elektra/pseuds/elektra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>his prayers were never answered; he might as well defile all he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	anathema, andromeda, amen

some might compare the visage of a lover’s back with human afflictions of pigmentations to the cosmos – constellations of wear and tear, freckled and speckled, connected by invisible lines of taut red string to signify whatever fates might have happened upon an expanse so wide and as inviting as mortal felled lives. in truth, he never cared much for the naming of stars too distant to see past a flicker on the reflections of windshields and windows and tangible things he didn’t remember past a degree of pain and self loathing. he imagines it’s been even longer since they’ve witnessed much else than white sandstone and rancid augury.

“do you remember –” he whispers to them, slight as can be, reclined on their elbows with an arching spine of less curve and more dip to crevices between bones, “– the stars?”, in the midst of a twisted sheet. it’s their favoured place of rest, now, in his clinical bed when the world doesn’t need a bloodied harbinger.

 _no_ , the coils of their vertebrae whisper back to him. of course not.

it’s been many thousands of years since any epoch of humanity had fallen to their death, an event as mysterious as the casting of names to the light dotted heavens and the decision to fall to ones’ knees in the faces of the infinite earths that might orbit at only a second’s beat apart.

“you’re well acquainted with the night sky, i’m sure, having stared at it for so long from on that tree –” now, now, it’s a joke! reason reasons with a firm gaze sent over one lilied shoulder, but the battle is fought and lost in an instance. there are things not befit of conversation.

“i can help you remember – orion, cygnus, polaris, draco, all the tiny little balls of hydrogen that we gather into asterisms and attempt to tell futures from.” his hands are adamant against the landscape of their ribcage, nearly holding to break in half. it’d be interesting to behold; the inward snap of the spine, the splaying of their ribs like a butterfly’s wings to attempt to flutter by ( would he find one bone missing, etched into dusty tablets of command, composed another essence? ), the way their gaping hollow hole would contort to the angles. skin them, stretch their limbs across the suns and all the moons, and lament their transcendence. they humour him, allowing the pained grip of his fingers around their hips and fingers overlapping on the narrowest bend of their back. “do you remember now, the fire we used to throw ourselves around year after year, and how we’d fear it more than admire it and add it into collections based on whoever decided to put on a mask and tell _stories_ about _gods_?”

they only ever knew rhetorical, unanswered questions. if they understood the double edged freudian tongue he possessed, they did not react in any way. a godsend. he shakes his fist at the throne of supposedly glory no matter how things fare. how ironic that the sun is going to kill us all! the sun will set us on fire! the sun too far away will make us freeze! our galaxy is in shambles! when his death was nothing more than the shit in his veins.

“bullshit. an apophany. there’s nothing in the stars.” twinkle twinkle little star, rain down hellfire on this abandoned waste of a life and transfer me into the afterlife of immortality and god’s prophets spread for the taking. his prayers were never answered; he might as well defile all he can. doubts are accentuated with the tightening of his hands around their waist as he finds his trail of kisses into a starless back without crosses of lovers ( only faith pledges ) falling downwards more enthralling than any comet flashes.

they turn in his clutch, their hands molten as they guide him back up to indulge the night of their lips with his breath of dark matter smoke, and between the both of them they make their own galaxies.

there would be enough dying stars to look after in time.

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe it.


End file.
